Nena Ann Boelter (english books to improve english .TXT) 📖

With those few words, he had made his expectations clear. He hadn’t said choose one this very moment, but Nena understood he might as well have. Having voiced it was basically a decree. And he was right; there was no reason—at least no logical one. It was their way and she’d been expecting it, so why was she surprised? Had she really thought to be like Jalla? Her aunt had lost her husband soon after Nena’s mother had died, but had never been required to choose another. Instead she had taken over much of the rearing of Meln’s children—a duty that should have gone to his next wife, but her father had never offered his willingness to be chosen by another.

But Nena knew her situation was different. She hadn’t lost a mate. She’d been a female prisoner of the loathsome Northmen. Her father would have no way of knowing what her captivity had actually been like, and naturally, would assume the worst—that she’d been raped and tortured for months. He probably even thought she would want a husband quickly to put that behind her.

Nena’s thoughts took a darker path and, for a brief moment, she wondered bitterly if his haste had anything to do with her at all. Seeing her circle filled in with no husband’s symbol below would be a constant daily reminder of his own horrific defeat. He, and everyone else, would think of it every time they saw her. Once she chose and had a warrior husband’s lineage on her arm, things would, at least on the surface, appear to be normal. They could all go on with their lives as if nothing had ever happened.

Nena shook the angry thoughts from her head, realizing they were irrational. Again, it had to be the lack of sleep and the Taymen affecting her judgment. Her father had nothing to gain by covering the miniscule evidence of his defeat from her arm. Not when his own skull was a shocking daily reminder to all.

Nena’s bladder awoke her in the darkness. She sat up disoriented and looked around the tent to get her bearings. Embers from a small cookfire illuminated the small space with soft orange light. She still slept on top of Jalla’s furs, though someone had covered her with a thick soft wolf pelt. Jalla and Exanthia slept together in a separate pile of furs on the opposite side of the small firepit. A new flat pan and two freshly washed plates sat tipped on their sides against a stone of the fire ring, and Nena smelled traces of wild onion and antelope. She had heard nothing of their return or the meal they had obviously prepared and eaten.

She stood and moved quietly toward the flap without waking them. As she exited the tent and walked toward the trees, she glanced up at the moon to gauge the time. It would soon be first light, though she couldn’t be sure of which day. At minimum, she had slept the entire day of their arrival and almost an entire night. She did feel more rested, and though she knew she could sleep more, she decided against returning to her furs. Instead she went to the baths, making the most of her early rising to avoid the other women there a bit longer.

When she returned to the tent, Jalla was just leaving with a fired-clay pot of tea. She glanced at Nena’s clean appearance with approval.

“Nena. I wondered where you’d gone so early. Perhaps you would take this tea to your father for me. It helps with his headaches.”

“Of course.” Nena took the tray from her.

“You will usually find him by the bend in the stream in the Meadow of the Idols,” Jalla suggested. “And I was going to take Exanthia to the training grounds this morning, if that is alright with you? She is eager to start her warrior training, and I see no reason for her to delay.”

Exanthia appeared from the tent at that moment, her hair freshly braided and wearing a new young warrior dress. Her face was filled with excitement and anticipation. Both seemed to be waiting for her permission.

Nena nodded and smiled.

Nena inhaled the sweet smell of ripe and rotting fruit as she passed between the twin obelisks that marked the west boundary of the Meadow of the Idols. The fruit trees planted within the sacred space to ensure the gods had sufficient nourishment, were laden with fruit this year and much had already fallen to the ground. The gods would be pleased. Carefully balancing the tray on her hip, Nena reached up between the branches for a dark purple plum and plucked it from its hidden place nestled between the glossy green leaves.

She rubbed it briefly against her dress, then raised it to her lips. The tart skin burst as soon as her teeth touched it, spraying the sweet juice into her mouth. She closed her eyes and savored it. They were better than she remembered. Though the trees were maintained for the gods, the people of the tribe were allowed to share in the bounty, but only by taking the fruit from the west half of each tree. The sweetest fruit that was first touched by the sun every morning was always left for the gods.

Still sucking the last shreds of sweetness from the pit, Nena made her way through the tall carved stone idols. She found her father exactly where Jalla had described, sitting where the creek made a sharp turn, with his back leaned against the gnarled trunk of an old pear tree. He looked up at her approach.

“Ah, Nena—and you have brought my tea. Very good. Sit and join me.” He patted the grass next to him. “When Jalla first made this for me, I did not care for its flavor, but now I have acquired a taste for it. Would you like some?” he offered.

“No, thank you,”